


Gracious Whim of Fate

by Lori_S21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Elements of dubcon, Fairy tale mash-up, Humour, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lori_S21/pseuds/Lori_S21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If he’s the handsome Prince riding in to save the day on his noble Impala, that would make Cas...the <em>Princess</em>? Dean suppresses an inappropriate grin at <em>that</em>." </p><p>Wherein fairy tale characters come to life on a case, with surprising results...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title based on a quote from Disney's 'Sleeping Beauty.'

It all starts with three green-skinned witches. 

Honest to God, in-your-face-green witches. As if they’d staggered out of a picture book into the little mall of Payton, Kansas. A coffee shop to be precise. It was as if a knock-off Halloween costume had come to life - raggedy black cloaks, pointy hats, warts and all. 

"Begone vile peasants! For we are the night! We are darkness!" One cried.

"Uh yeah... You gonna order something or what? The double mocha madness is on special offer." Replied the unfortunate and bemused teen behind the counter. His name was Danny and he was confused. 

Cackling away, big as you like, the camera phone footage of them turning poor Danny into a toad went understandably viral. No one knew how such a trick was pulled off. It was almost like ‘magic.’ 

But then Danny remained missing and it wasn’t so amusing anymore.

Next came the spate of random broads in distress, wandering the streets of Payton in full on regal dress. Cinderella. Belle. Snow. Locals were baffled. Was it a publicity stunt or were these well dressed women slightly unhinged? Searching for their princes or just suffering from amnesia? Either way, it was like they’d stepped out from a Disney movie.

It caught Sam, Dean and Castiel’s attention anyway. They were passing through the state and decided that maybe such unusual phenomenon were worth checking out, just in case. Besides, Dean was eager to meet a hot Princesses.

Sam’s theory of a whole town in on a publicity stunt soon went out the window in the face of geese laying golden eggs at a humble duck pond, a rampaging troll that turned to stone in the sunlight (a beautiful town centre statue that still stands today) and a well-dressed wolf that tried to eat Grandma. Soon the boys had to split up to deal with so many weird and wacky cases.

\-----------------------

Sam and Dean sit in a too-well lit diner, attempting to refresh themselves with an excessive amount of caffeine. The food may not be top notch, but at least there’s no fairy tale activity here. Yet anyway.

“This is insane.” Dean sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“I know.”

“We need to stop this. I’m run ragged.” 

“Me too.”

“You think I can pawn this?” Dean asks, plonking a solid gold egg on the table top. They both state for a few moments, before bursting into peals of laughter. They’re still laughing when Castiel staggers into the diner, bell tinkling behind him.

“I put the goblin into the cat box like you suggested, but I seriously doubt the rescue shelter will take him in.” Castiel slumps into the booth next to Dean, shaking his head sadly. He was once a warrior of God. He used to fly, heal the sick and injured, was feared and worshiped across the world.

Now he works in supernatural pest control.

Dean grins at the fallen angel, taking in his ruffled hair and worn expression. He pushes a cup of coffee towards his friend. “Here, get that down you. It go okay?”

“I’m fine Dean. A little scratched up…” He holds out his hands, they are littered with angry red scratches. He takes a sip of the strong beverage, savouring its warmth gratefully. “The goblin did not want to go willingly.”

Sam takes a swig of his coffee, “So what happens next? We find a place to send him back or…”

“Gank him? Guess so.” Says Dean with a grimace before adding more sugar to his drink. “Dammit. I really don’t feel like squishing the little guy. So he stole some gold…”

“And bit that lady.” Cas corrects automatically.

“Sure he’s a biter. But does he deserve to die?” Dean shudders, “Anyway, we need to find out what’s causing all this. I’ve been all over town. No coma girls or son of Satan bringing fairy tales to life, far as I can tell.”

“There has to be something.” Says Sam, stretching out his gigantic form in his seat. “Goblins are one thing, but that ogre was plain unpleasant.”

“He actually threatened to make bread from my bones. Who does that?” Wonders Dean.

“I suspect that was an empty threat. I don’t think bone-bread would taste very nice. Even made from yours. I mean…” Castiel hastily shuts up, before stealing one of Dean’s fries with damaged yet agile hands. Sam smirks at Dean over his coffee, which the eldest Winchester pointedly ignores.

“Yo human-Cas! Order your own!”

“You owe me. I just man-handled that foul little creature into a cat box. He knew swear words I never knew existed.” Cas says, blushing a little.

“Well I took down the ogre with an axe – slow work. He was a big guy…Where’d you put little bugger anyway?” Dean asks, eyebrow raised in amusement.

“In the trunk for now.”

“Hey!” 

“What else could I do? Unless we make this stop, things are going to get a lot worse than scratched car upholstery.” Sighs Cas, gravelly voice emphasising the seriousness of their situation like an omen of doom.

“Nothing’s worse than that to Dean,” Says Sam with a wry smile. He dodges the fry-missile with ease which only serves to annoy Dean further.

\-----------------

They mark the locations down carefully on the map of Payton. A werewolf in Wal-Mart. A troll in a teashop. Even a beanstalk sprouting through the roof of the cottage of one alarmed old lady. Castiel, Dean and Sam have their work cut out for them, eliminating each fairy tale menace one at a time (except the beanstalk, they decided a tree surgeon would have to tackle that one).

Finally, they start to see a pattern. At the centre of the chaos lies a large, gothic mansion. 

Dean whistles low in his throat at the sight of it. “Of course. Couldn’t be a chocolate factory. Or a gingerbread house. Instead we get the home of Dracula. Perfect.”

Sam sighs, whilst Cas crinkles his brow in confusion. He’s still catching up on literary characters. Most of it sounds like nonsense to him anyway. Dean can’t help but smile a little when he catches his expression. He privately thinks he looks like a disgruntled kitten. It’s part of the reason he makes so many references in the first place, to see his face scrunch like that.

“The thing even has towers.” Sam adds clearing his throat to regain Dean’s attention, “A house like this. In the middle of suburbia… Not at all strange.”

“Locals say it wasn’t even here last week.” Dean says. 

“That’s ominous,” Says Cas evenly as he gestures at the front door. “Shall we?” 

And so, clutching their axes and guns loaded with salt, our trepid heroes slowly make their way into the house. The door is unlocked which isn’t reassuring at all. It swings open with a solemn creak inviting them into its gloomy confines.

“No way this can go wrong.” Sam says heavily, clutching his salt-gun tightly. 

Dean follows, “Let’s just get this sorted before Captain Hook turns up, the creepy bastard.”

\----------------------------------

 

“Hello, hello? Anybody home?” Dean calls out. “Dracula? Love what you’ve done with the place! Very tomb-like.”

Castiel nudges him, warm breath briefly ghosting over Dean’s neck, causing him to shiver. “I don’t think there’s anyone living here.”

“But maybe we shouldn’t let them know we are coming?” Sam finishes for him.

“If there’s no one here, then who lit the candles?” Dean asks triumphantly, studying Cas’ worried expression. There are several lavish brass candle holders mounted on the walls, each glowing eerily, flames flickering in a dry breeze.

Dean absolutely refuses to admit he jumps when the front door slams shut.

They stare at each other for a beat. “Oh.” Sam says, “Trap?”

“Trap.” Dean confirms, and carries on walking anyway.

They switch on their torches, casting flickering shadows into every corner. The place is like a haunted mansion, grand and decrepit. Shadows dance around their torch light. Moth eaten furniture adorns the hall. The place is silent save for their echoing footfalls and the creak of floorboards. They leave footprints on the dusty carpet. Dodge cobwebs so big, they look like Halloween decorations. 

This place is a death trap. 

Castiel feels it too.

He shudders. The place feels cold and damp – two sensations he hates most since becoming human. He stays close to the brothers. Until he notices something catch the light of his torch in a room to the left. Carefully, he steps into another spacious room, empty except for an object in the centre. A spinning wheel. The kind used to make yarn or thread in old textile trades.

“Why is there a wooden wheel in this room? I don’t understand.” Cas asks out loud, breaking the oppressive silence of the house. It brings both brothers running.

“What?” Asks Sam cautiously.

Dean is soon by his side, glaring a little. “Don’t wander off genius,” he scolds, squashing down the momentary wave of panic he felt upon noticing Castiel had vanished.

“It’s a spinning wheel,” Sam answers, sounding a little surprised and wary. “People used it in the old days to spin thread. It’s straight out of Rumpelstiltskin.” His face falls with the realisation as he glances around the room, half expecting a little goblin-man to appear and demand they get to work and spin him some bloody gold.

“Rumple- _what?_ ” Cas splutters.

“Just some creepy little dude who kidnaps chicks and makes them spin gold for him.” Dean explains, leering at Cas for emphasis.

Castiel raises his eyebrow. “Oh. Is that all?” 

Dean smiles back at him. He thinks Cas may have gotten a little too good at sarcasm. “Fairy tales are messed up.” Dean declares, shuddering lightly. He winds an arm around Castiel, gently trying to steer him away from the creepy object. He doesn’t like how quickly Cas’ attention goes back to the thing. Not that he wants Cas’ attention solely on him. Of course not. He just doesn’t like how enraptured he seems to be. He wears a curious, fixated expression, head tilted in that endearing way he never grew out of since falling. Dean doesn’t like the spinner. It’s odd. There’s even a child-sized stool beside it. Weird and weirder. He doesn’t want Castiel anywhere near it.

But Cas is transfixed. The spinner isn’t even dusty when everything else is. He can feel power radiating from this object, something drawing him in. He runs his hands over the worn wooden surface, so smooth beneath his palm. He has the mad urge to sit on the little stool beside it. Or to take the thing with him, ridiculous as it sounds. He exactly can’t say why. Only that it doesn’t belong here.

“I don’t think you should touch it, Cas.” Sam cautions. “We should move on...” Cas is startled by the interruption, snapped out of his temporary trance with common sense. 

As he withdraws away from the object, he catches his hand on something sharp, presumably the same shiny something he saw before. 

“Ouch!” He vaguely realises he is bleeding and goes to examine the little wound. He feels the weight of Dean’s arm around him, hears his bark of concern, before his legs are collapsing under him. The floor rises to meet him and everything goes dark.

\-------------------------------

“Cas? _Cas?_ Can you hear me? Is he dead? Is he dead?” Dean pulls the limp, unresponsive Castiel into his arms, clumsily scrabbling at his neck, feeling for a pulse. Cas has been human for a while now. Never has Dean wished it wasn’t so more than now. He’s too defenceless, too breakable. Panic surges up in him like bile. He almost shoves Sam away in his frantic state.

“He’s got a pulse. And he’s breathing…” Dean gasps in relief swallowing hard as he palms the warm skin of Cas’ throat. “But the way he went down though, Jesus…” He breathes shakily at the horrific memory.

Castiel is a warm weight in his arms. A _dead_ weight, he tries not to think. He looks peaceful; serene, eyes shut and mouth slightly parted. His breathing is slow and deep, eyelashes curling softly against his cheekbones. He could be sleeping.

A deep sleep.

Sam checks his heart rate more thoroughly, face etched with worry. “His pulse is slow.” He removes his hand, kneels beside Cas’ practically lifeless body. “God, we’re so stupid.”

“What is it?” Dean forces out, gripping Cas a little too tightly. He doesn’t take his eyes off of him, for a second in the gloom, he gives him a tiny shake. 

“We forgot that another fairy tale uses spinning wheels. One with a poisoned spindle.” Sam runs a hand through his hair in distress, exhaling deeply. “Sleeping Beauty.”

Dean’s jaw sags as the words hit him like a double punch. “Dammit Cas. Why couldn’t you leave it alone?” But his friend is in no position to justify his actions. “Oh god Sammy. We gotta do something. Get him to a hospital maybe? Or we could -”

He trails off as Sam shakes his head. “It’s magic. I doubt there’ll be anything they can do.”

“We can’t just leave him like this!” Dean states angrily. He shifts, cradling Cas’ head in his lap. “The return of Mr Comatose is the last thing we need right now.”

“At least it looks like he’s just sleeping though. That’s a good thing right?” Sam says reassuringly. “The answer to all this must be in this house. It _must_ be. Maybe we should take him back to the motel first?”

Dean is in bits, but he cannot argue. How can Sam be so sure he’s only sleeping? He squeezes Cas shoulder and prepares to carry him out to the car.

\--------------------------------------

Dean isn’t so sure of anything anymore. He keeps seeing the way Castiel fell, over and over in his head. He thought he had died in his arms.

He cannot just watch Castiel die again. He won’t.

He’s in such a state; he even lets Sam drive back to the motel. Dean sits in the back in silence, watching Cas’ expression for any changes, head pillowed in his lap. He looks just as tranquil as before. His brow is smooth, and his chest rises and falls steadily. But apart from that he is as still as the grave. Head titled onto his shoulder, his hair like a dark halo, and Dean links their hands together, chafing the back with a calloused thumb to try and warm it up. The mark from the spindle has already vanished but its effects will be harder to break he fears.

“C’mon Cas. I know the case is tiring, but this is ridiculous.”

Cas doesn’t stir. Not even slightly. Dean feels something inside him break too.

\------------------------------

They deposit him on the bed and Dean is forcibly reminded of the time Cas returned from the past. That was when they became a solid team as the angel proved how he will always be willing to come through for them. He had blood on his lips then. Now there’s nothing. No marks, no wounds, not a single sign that he isn’t just sleeping. Except that he won’t wake up.

They both try. Sam shakes him, gently. Dean shakes him hard, desperately, until Sam makes him stop. Cas’ body jerks and he falls back against the mattress undisturbed. Dean thinks he must have left finger marks on vulnerable, human skin and feels ashamed. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. He can’t afford to fall apart right now.

“We’ll get him back.” Sam says, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. All Dean is capable of is a nod. He can’t take his eyes off Castiel.

Cas is human. He sleeps as much as any human does of course. But now he is comatose. Frozen. Slow breaths through soft lips. He should never have let Cas touch that wheel. Dean cannot bear it. He wishes there was someone they could talk to. Someone who could help them. He misses Bobby fiercely. He would growl out some gruff advice. He’d know what to do.

“I have to get out of here.” Dean states, stepping away from reassurance he feels he doesn’t deserve. He tears his eyes away from Cas when it all becomes too much.

“Dean-“ Sam turns those sympathetic eyes on him, and he can’t take it.

“Oh no, Sammy don’t. Don’t say anything.”

Sam nods and mercifully lets it go. “Okay, okay. Uh I guess we should go back to the house. Everything seems to be centred around it.”

“Yeah sure… Then we find the son of a bitch who did this and make them suffer. A lot.” Dean will be first to admit that isn’t his best threat, but it’s all he has under the circumstances. “Hang on, wait. We can’t just leave Cas! What if he chokes on his tongue or something?”

“Then you better stay here then.”

“I can’t let you take on the house of horrors all on your own. What if you get sleepy too? You’re way too heavy for me to lug around.” He jokes because the thought of such a possibility leaves him cold.

“I won’t. I promise.” Sam says so surely that Dean has to scoff. “Besides, you’re in no state to be playing detective while Cas is like this.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do.” There’s the eyes again. Sam really needs to stop doing that, Dean decides. The ‘I know all your secrets’ face is all too creepy. “Seriously. Stay with Cas. I’ll give you regular updates, but until then, just look out for him okay?”

Dean finds it hard to argue with that logic.

“Okay. But if you don’t phone in, I’m coming to get you. Then I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Fair enough.”

 

\-------------------

He tries so many methods to get Cas to wake up.

From fake-threats: “I’m gonna take naked photos of you and put them on EBay.” 

To a blast of Metallica via the laptop. He even tries being incredibly irritating by poking him in his slightly soft stomach. He squidges his cheeks and makes undignified baby noises, to no avail. He tries shouting at him like a drill sergeant and dumps a glass of water over his face. This achieves nothing except slightly annoyed neighbours and a guilty feeling as he mops his friend up. Cas still manages to stay still and unaffected. After a while, Dean starts to feel funny touching him so he decides to sit and wait. Do some research on the laptop and keep his hands to himself. He’s not supposed to touch.

He spends his time looking up the many different versions of Sleeping Beauty. Each is more disturbing than the last. There’s the Disney classic – a kiss from a handsome Prince to break the spell. The thought of it makes him slightly light-headed, though he does grin at the imagined look of outrage of Cas’ face once he wakes up and is confronted by a royal stranger who can’t keep his lips to himself. He thinks Cas would be wearing his ‘smitey’ face for sure. 

In another, the evil witch gets her head cut off. He likes that. Dean approves. He’s done enough head severing in his time to know it’s a pretty effective solution.

In the Grimm (very grim!) version, the Prince actually has his way with the sleeping Princess – date rape and fairy tales should never mix, Dean thinks with revulsion. She even gives birth to his baby whilst she’s still sleeping. Dean has to slam the laptop shut at that one. How the heck would they explain that one to her? That is whole new realms of fucked up. And there is no way – NO WAY! - he’s letting anyone have their wicked way with Cas. He’d tear their head off.

Eventually he finds himself drawn back to Cas’ side. He drags a chair over and slumps down heavily. He has Sam to worry about now as well. At least he can see Cas, know he’s okay. Sort of. 

He is able to watch over him, see him lying there; a long, suited stretch of an impossible man. He feels kind of creepy, looking at Cas whilst he’s so vulnerable, so unaware of Dean’s gaze – and the folktale research isn’t helping any. But lord knows, he’s caught Cas watching him sleep enough times in that freakish and remote angelic way he does. It would serve him right if he wakes up now to find he has a witness for once.

“See? Creepy isn’t it?” Dean says out loud, though Cas cannot hear him. He pretends that he can.

Dean rubs his eyes, leans closer to Cas’ ear and begins to speak.

“Hey Cas. I don’t know if you can hear me... This feels weird. Like all those times I used to pray to you and never knew if you were listening…” He trails off, smiles a little. “Anyway, I guess I just wanted you to know that we’re gonna find a way to make you better. I promise you, we will. Because… we just have to. If anyone can do it, it’s Sammy.” He smiles tightly.

His throat starts to sting but he ignores it. He won’t cry because this is fixable. There’s nothing to cry about. Sure it’s upsetting. Sure he’s having flashbacks to the time Cas returned the souls to purgatory, leaving him dead and broken on the ground. He was so naïve back then. Still is. But he got better then and he will now. Dean lightly takes Cas’ tanned hand in his own, clears his throat before continuing. 

“Basically buddy, I need you. That’s the bottom line here, so you gotta come through for me. I’ll do anything to get you back, okay? I promise.”

He waits for a few moments, listening to seconds tick away on the room clock, before he realises what he just said. “Anything except letting a perverted Prince knock you up. You don’t need that.”

Cas doesn’t say anything so Dean just holds his hand and waits. Waits for his brother to call.

\---------------------------------

 

The phone rings exactly two hours later. 

“Jeez Sammy! You said you’d give me regular updates! I’m going out of my mind here.”

“Dean?” Sam sounds odd.

Dean clutches the phone so hard, it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Says Sam, brushing the concern aside. “How’s Cas?”

“Still out for the count,” Dean replies. He notices he’s left little nail marks against Cas’ hand from where he clenched it so tight. “What have you got?”

“Well…I think I found a cure for Cas.”

He doesn’t sound happy. A fact Dean chooses to ignore because – cure! “That’s great Sammy! Seriously great – lay it on me!”

Dean presses the phone hard against his ear, grips it hard enough to make his hands ache.

“It’s just a little complicated.” Sam admits, sounding uncomfortable.

“Sam, it’s _Cas_. I’m sure I can manage just fine.” He says through gritted teeth, trying not to lose his patience. Though at the back of his mind, the rapey prince waves with glee. Dean shudders, crosses his fingers and hopes the cure isn’t anything too weird.

Sam seems to be doing some serious shifting on the other end of the line. “The answer lies within Sleeping Beauty. That much was pretty clear.” Dean says nothing, just waits. Impatiently. ”Listen: don’t get mad.”

“Why would I be mad?” Dean says automatically, all while knowing that if anything is guaranteed to make him angry, it’s usually something that follows the phrase ‘don’t be mad.’

“I sort of got some advice from a Fairy Godmother. I found her outside the house, waiting to help us.”

“A Fairy Godmother?” Dean echoes flatly.

“A Fairy Godmother.” Sam confirms. “Another fairy tale creature – but a nice on this time.”

“Did she have wings?” Dean asks, lips curling.

“Actually no. She sort of looked like the old lady from Cinderella, all shiny and grandmotherly.?”

“That your favourite movie Sammy?”

“You want the cure for Cas or not jackass?”

“Of course, of course,” He flaps his hands and schools his face into a more serious expression even though Sam can’t see him. “Please continue. What did this Fairy Godmother have to say?” It’s a testament to their lives that he is able to accept the woman’s identity and move on with little trouble.

“That she was sorry about the spell her evil fairy sister cast over our friend.”

“Evil sister?” Dean repeats hollowly.

“It’s a fairy tale Dean. And she never actually used the phrase ‘our friend’ either. She called Cas ‘our princess.’” Sam says, snorting a little.

Dean takes his phone conversation further away from Cas, as if he could hear them. He has a feeling this is heading into uncomfortable waters. Creepy, molest-y, uncomfortable waters.

“Princesses aint what they used to be.” Dean deadpans, as is expected of him. Privately, he’ll admit Cas is pretty, ridiculously gorgeous. Only privately though. “Did she say how to break the spell?”

“Yep. With true love’s first kiss.” Sam says in a rush, to get it over with.

“Well look where that was heading.” Dean says, feeling exasperated. 

“I’m just repeating what she said. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“No how bout we shoot her instead? She’s obviously full of bull.”

“I don’t think so Dean. She seemed really nice like a –“

“Like a what Sammy?” Dean say, voice low and dangerously irritated.

Sam sheepishly mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘good fairy.’

“Have you lost your _mind_?”

“Think about it Dean. It makes sense. We’re living in a fairy tale and this is how these things pan out.”

“Because some drunken old lady tells you it must?”

“She wasn’t drunk.”

“Great,” Dean snaps sarcastically. He takes a long look at Cas and lowers his voice for some reason. As if the topic were faintly embarrassing and he wants to protect him from it. “So all we gotta do is go on Matchmaker and find Cas’ a soul mate who’s into narcolepsy and trench coats. No problem there then!”

“Dean.” He doesn’t like that tone. It appears to suggest that Dean is being a moron but is also laced with something heavier, something he doesn’t want to discuss. Something they never discuss.

“Sam don’t.” He tries to make his voice hard, but it comes out like a plea.

“You know what I’m going to say.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“You know you’re the person he loves more than anyone else in the world, Dean.”

He opens his mouth in futile protest because that’s so not true. Why would Cas love him? That’s ridiculous. He’s done nothing to be worthy of such a love. Nothing at all. It’s ridiculous for Cas to love him.

“He loves you too, maybe you should pucker up.” Dean argues childishly.

He can practically see Sam’s patented Bitch Face on the other end of the phone.

“Dean. Don’t be an idiot. You know it’s not the same. I love him like a brother.”

“So do I,” he argues weakly. Though the statement feels false and heavy on his tongue.

“I’m not even going to waste my breath on that one. Just do it.” Sam orders flatly.

“Some Super Crone orders me to kiss a guy and you say: ‘Hey let’s go for it!’?” Dean sighs, “How can we trust her? What if she cast the spell in the first place? You ever think about that? Besides,” he adds, voice growing serious. “I’m not Cas’ true love, Sammy. Aint no such thing.”

Sam pauses for a moment before replying. “I think you could be the closest to it, if you wanted to be. And if you don’t puss out that is. Don’t you owe him enough to at least try?”

Every argument Dean has lined up falls flat in response.

“Look, I’m still working on what started this all in the first place, and I think I’m closing in.” Sam’s voice goes soft. “Go on. It’s worth a try right? Go be Prince Charming if you think that’s not too much of a stretch.”

Dean snorts, “I hate you so much right now.”

“Yeah, I know.”

\--------------------------

If he’s the handsome Prince riding in to save the day on his noble Impala, that makes Cas the Princess. Dean supresses an inappropriate grin at that. Princess Cas, the sleeping beauty. He swallows hard, palms sweating. He feels so ridiculously nervous. There is so much at stake here. He wants so badly to be the one to wake Cas, yet he’s terrified. Terrified of failing, yet also terrified of succeeding.

What if he is Cas’ true love?

What if he _isn’t_? 

If this situation is true to the story, it means a hundred years of Cas, lying there unconscious. Not aging, unchanging, waking up all alone, when he and Sam will be long gone. A lifetime without Castiel… No. He won’t lose him again.

It is this thought that gives him the courage to go through with it.

He glances at Cas guiltily. This isn’t what they are. This is never what they are. 

But maybe it could be.

“I am so sorry about this.” He murmurs, approaching the bed to slowly sit by Cas’ side.

He looks down at his immobile friend, feeling like some kind of pervert the whole time. But he must admit, they got the ‘beauty’ part right. Thick unruly dark hair, those big earnest eyes, the full, inviting lips…slightly chapped but shapely and soft looking. Dean shakes his head and smiles. He’s gone all poet. Pervert Poet.

Cas’ chest rises and falls steadily and something breaks inside of Dean at the sight of his broken friend. He isn’t the most chatty man most of the time but he’d give anything to hear that gravel voice again. 

He _needs_ Cas.

He gently thumbs back a lock of hair. Cas doesn’t even stir. His brow is smooth, skin tanned and warm. Dean has this low, nervous tingle in his stomach, like butterflies, a strange sensation when he looks at sleeping-Cas. Something else lies beneath, something primal and hungry that he doesn’t care to examine. He gets it from seeing Cas spread out like this and that’s all kinds of wrong but it’s true. 

But it’s more than all that. More than looks that makes his chest go tight whenever he sees him. It’s more than that borrowed body. It’s how he moves within it, how he tries, the way he smiles, his confusion, his courage and compassion. Dean has never known anyone quite like Cas. It’s not the whole ‘angel thing’ that makes him who he is. He’s just is. He’s Cas.

Dean swallows a lump in his throat. The thought of never hearing his voice again or seeing his eyes crinkle when he gets confused by some reference. Or the sheer, unfiltered delight on his face as he devours another burger…it’s unthinkable.

And with that thought, Dean cradles Cas’ cheek carefully. He feels so warm, slightly rough from light stubble. Cas is a man alright. Cas is _Cas_. Dean leans closer, stops with his lips an inch above Cas’. He wets his lips anxiously, feels the breath of Castiel wash over him. No one should be this beautiful up close, he thinks. It’s not fair. A sculpture made flesh. He traces the line of that full bottom lip with his thumb, swallows nervously.

“Please.” He whispers, warm air moving over Cas’ lips, before he closes the gap.

He’s firm and gentle, lingering to get it right, lips gently bumping against Cas’. His lips remain motionless underneath and this only makes Dean press harder, pouring desperate love into every caress. He gently runs his fingers through Cas’ hair, palms his cheek, lightly laps at the seam of his closed lips. He catches himself, pulling away guiltily with a gasp, breath juddering out of him. He can’t believe he just did that.

He can only bear to look at the immobile Cas for a few moments before he’s heartbreakingly, painfully aware that it’s not going to work. He rubs his eyes, trying not to think of what this means. What it means that Cas is still lying there in a death-like slumber. He wasn’t the one. Cas is lost to him, to the world. It’s too much. His eyes burn and the lump in his throat has come back. He’s not going to cry. He’s not going to break down like some unrequited love interest in a cheesy movie. He’s still going to save Cas. He’s going to get him back even if that means letting him be kissed by every woman on the damn planet. He stares at his clenched fists, despairing.

_You’re the person he loves more than anyone else in the world, Dean._

But it's not enough.

\-------------------------

A minute later, everything falls back into place. The longest minute of his life. 

“Dean?” It’s a rough voice, made rougher by lack of use.

“Cas?” Dean turns. He looks down. Sees Castiel lying there with wide, confused eyes blinking up at him. “CAS!”

He envelopes his friend’s smaller body in his arms before he can stop himself. He breathes in that familiar scent and holds him too tight, crushing that warmth against his chest. “Cas,” He repeats over and over. He can feel his heartbeat, hear that shocked cry of confusion, the hot puff of air that comes with a shocked laugh against his neck, pulled out of Cas by surprise.

“Um Dean?” Cas answers tentatively, gasping a little. He pats Dean on the back in a nervous fashion, like one would pet an unruly dog. This comparison makes Dean laugh a little.

“You son of a bitch, I knew you’d come through!” Dean shouts happily, voice muffled into Cas’ shoulder.

“What just ..?” Cas chokes out, frame trembling against Dean’s. “Did I go somewhere?”

Dean reluctantly slides away, but not too far. He keeps a hand on Cas’ forearm, squeezing to make sure he’s real. He palms the side of his face, feels that confused half-smile, before realising this is probably inappropriate and lets go. But he’s just so relieved. The kiss worked. And for now, he doesn’t want to think about the implications.

Cas is now wearing the patented Confused Little Half-Frown. He and Sam could go into business. 

He tilts his head, licks his lips nervously. Dean can’t help but capture the slight movement. He stares at Cas’ mouth helplessly as the fallen angel swipes a thumb over that lush lower lip. “Dean?”

“Uh yeah?” Dean says, eyes guiltily snapping up to meet Cas’.

“Was someone just kissing me?”

Aw crap.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!  
> This is ridiculous. Please review!  
> And I may have borrowed a couple of non-Grimm fairy tales. Artistic licence and all. Enjoy!

Dean can feel himself falling.

He’s too close, so damn close to Cas. Then there’s all that sleep-warmth radiating from Cas’ skin, just inches away, drawing him in. And he’s all bed-headed and confused, head tilted in that endearing way he does. His eyes are still so wide; staring into his own in that direct manner only Cas is capable of. It makes his skin itch. And then there’s his lips, moistened and slightly swollen. Stupid inviting lips. Dean really wants to kiss them again, only to have them reciprocate this time. Have them move, press, glide. Leave him shaky, open and wrecked…

But who’s to say that Cas would kiss back anyway?

_You’re the person he loves more than anyone else in the world…_

But is that what really happened? Did Dean’s kiss break the spell? If so, it seemed to take a while to take effect. Didn’t Sam say he was close to finding the cause of all this? What if Sam was the one who broke the spell?

What if he _wasn’t_?

Dean decides this is too much to cope with after nearly losing his best friend. So he says the first thing that comes into his head.

He blinks, feeling drugged, before moving away, breaking eye contact. “I better call Sammy; let him know you’re awake.” 

No one could miss the way Cas’ eyes narrow with suspicion. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, carefully selecting his words. Dean pulls his phone out and punches in Sam’s number, avoiding eye contact.

“I was unconscious? And you didn’t answer my question –” Cas starts.

“I’m on a call Cas, seriously!” Dean lets out an over the top, sigh of outrage before darting away, phone pressed against his ear.

“Sam? Sammy! Cas is awake. Did you break the spell?”

“No, but I think I’ve figured out what’s behind all this…” Sam’s voice trails off, before the realisation hits him. Dean can almost picture the light bulb pinging on over his head, and winces in anticipation. “Hang on, does that mean you kissed-”

“Sam - just don’t.” Dean chokes out.

“You totally did!” Sam says, sounding ecstatic. “I knew it. I knew it would work!”

“Shut up you girl-moose.” Dean chides, fighting back a blush. “Where are you anyway? You in trouble?”

Sam makes a few indecisive noises on his end. “Uh…not exactly.”

“Really? ‘Cause you _sound_ like you’re in trouble.” Dean can feel Cas’ gaze boring into him. He risks a glance and can see the adorably-confused expression has slipped into something a little more irritated. His arms are folded stiffly and he can’t blame the guy. If he’d woken up to find someone leering over him, he’d want some answers too.

He just doesn’t know what ones to give him.

“I’m not in trouble. Not yet anyway.”

“That’s it. We’re coming to get you.” Dean is pulling his coat on as he speaks, and Cas leaps to his feet, now looking anxious. “Where are you now?”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want some alone time with Cas?”

“I will make you eat that phone, I swear to God…”

“Alright. I’m at Payton Antiques, that little store on the High Street?”

“What happened to the haunted house?” Dean asks, feeling confused.

“It vanished. Quite literally.”

“Of course it did,” Dean sighs, feeling a tension headache coming on. Will they ever have a conversation that doesn’t include chats with fairies and vanishing buildings? “We’ll be there in ten.”

“Actually, no. I have a better idea.” Sam interjects. “I did a little research and found that this store was selling an ancient copy of Grimm’s fairy-tales, a handwritten original.”

Dean whistles low under his breath. “Wow. Bet that’s worth a few bucks.”

“Exactly. But it’s just too big a coincidence, must be cursed. Anyone who reads it unleashes fairy-tale chaos on their home.”

“I knew no good ever comes from reading. Burn the damn thing.” Dean urges. He can see Cas’ eyes getting rounder and rounder and has to smother a grin over how stupidly adorable he looks. It must be a pretty bewildering conversation to overhear.

“They’ve already sold it.” Sam answers. “To a local, Mr R J Hartley, according to their books.”

“Sounds like we better pay him a visit.”

\---------------------

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“What is that gnawing sound?”

Dean breathes a sigh of relief. That wasn’t what he expected Cas to ask. “Goblin dude’s still in the trunk.” Answers Dean, eyes focused on the road ahead. He’s glad Cas asked. Glad he was the one to break the tense silence (he’s also glad the cat box seems to be doing the trick of keeping the magical creature locked up, but that’s another matter).

Cas makes a little humming sound in response and Dean has to fight the urge to study his expression. He can feel Cas’ steady gaze on him the whole ride over.

“Alright cut that out,” He finally snaps.

“Cut what out?” That gravel voice sounds overly innocent for his liking. So he risks a glance and meets those earnest doe-eyes. He sees nothing but sincerity within them. Either Cas has one mean poker face or…

“Quit staring!” Dean scolds. “Creepy-human staring is just as bad as creepy-angel staring. You should know better by now.” 

“You’re acting peculiar.” Cas accuses.

_Because I practically had my tongue in your mouth five minutes ago…_

“ _I’m_ peculiar?” Dean’s voice breaks a little on that one. He can feel his cheeks reddening. He never blushes. He never knew he could.

“The last thing I remember is cutting my hand on that spinning wheel. Now you’re being evasive. It’s all very mysterious.” Cas reasons, and Dean has to pretend that gravel-rough voice isn’t doing things to him deep inside.

“Now’s not really the time, Cas.” Dean responds, gripping the wheel tightly. “We’ve got a book to burn.”

Cas frowns at that. “Can we talk about this later then?” 

“I have no doubt that you’ll make me.” Dean answers all the while knowing that not even hell hounds could coax the truth from him.

\-------------------------

They get there first and decide there's no time to wait for Sam. A little breaking and entering never hurt anyone, Dean thinks as he jimmies open the lock on Mr Hartley’s door. It shouldn’t be this easy to break into such a rich man’s house. But no alarm is set even though no one answered the door when he knocked and there’s a fancy car in the driveway. Very suspicious. He’s kind of relieved there’s no one home. He had no idea how he would have got the book off the guy anyway.

“Hello, we’re the Book Police. We have to confiscate that artefact before you summon the Big Bad Wolf.” 

That would go down well.

As soon as the door swings open, a strange bleating sound is their only warning before a small, furry creature flashes past them, cantering outside, nearly bowling Cas over.

“It’s that a…goat?” Cas sounds puzzled by the randomness as Dean tries to hide the fact he almost pulled his gun out on a farm animal. The snowy little fellow trots down the street, none the wiser.

“I really hope that isn’t Mr Hartley.” Dean remarks, though it would make their life easier he guesses.

They step inside cautiously. Dean can’t help but sigh at the interior of the house; all shiny chrome with the best gadgets. Posh art, sconces, minimalistic but flashy at the same time. 

“Man, this guy’s loaded,” Dean says wistfully.

“Is this the kind of home you’d like for us one day?” Cas asks in that unbearably honest way he does. Dean nearly coughs up a lung.

“Hmm…What?” Dean asks, going red as a berry. Again. Does Cas think they should set up house together? Does he think that’s what Dean wants? He’s never said anything to give Cas that impression - has he? He likes the bunker just fine! And this place is too pretentious anyway, though the flat screen TV and large leather sofa aren’t too shabby. Perfect for Star Trek marathons or making out on it like a couple of horny teenagers. And a certain image rises unbidden in his mind at the sight of the fireplace, with the too-soft white fur rug placed oh-so carelessly in front of it. Him and Cas, spread out, entwined together, less clothes…

Too much porn.

Dean shrugs the image away and refuses to meet Cas’ eyes. Until he adds: “Yes. For you, me and Sam. If we were ever as wealthy.”

Oh. Bubble bursts.

“Nah, it’s not really my thing.” Dean blurts out casually, refusing to look at the offending rug as well.

He passes into the next room. And actually lets out a chuckle. No security alarm, and now this. A display room for golf trophies, sculptures, fancy museum pieces and an ancient, cursed book of fairy tales propped on a little plinth. Mr Hartley does like to make things easy for him.

“Alright then…time to burn bitch.” Dean announces, grinning triumphantly. Cas wraps his fingers around his arm before he can take a step forward. 

“Be careful,” He warns, breath lightly ghosting over Dean’s neck. “I don’t think you should touch it.”

“Well… I’ll just nudge it into my bag, take it outside and start a bonfire.” Dean says, swallowing since Cas’ proximity is making him slightly nervous, as is his direct stare. “No worries.”

“Can’t we just burn it now?” Cas asks, still holding on, Dean notices.

“Dude. The book we’re stealing is worth a fortune. You really wanna burn the guy’s fancy house down too?” Dean raises his eyebrows and the fallen angel nods a little in response.

So that’s what they do.

But the book doesn’t want to go without a fight.

It sends an evil queen to do its dirty work.

\-----------

“Well hello there.” Dean says, feeling baffled. One minute he’s stepping towards the book, the next there’s a six foot, thin, slightly haughty looking woman in regal dress, crown and all, standing in the way. She’s glaring down at him with her head held high. She has killer cheekbones. "Okay then…”

“If it isn’t the Prince and Princess, come to destroy my kingdom!” She announces in a full, throaty voice. Dean notices Cas’ eyebrows shoot way up at that.

Dean nudges him and clarifies, “You’re the Princess.”

“Oh.” Castiel doesn’t seem to care very much. He just still seems baffled by the sudden appearance of an evil Disney stepmother.

“Silence!” She waves her sceptre at them, eyes screwed up tight.

They both go silent. Dean realises it’s very odd for someone to yell ‘silence!’ at you.

“You will return from whence you came or suffer unending, merciless pain.” She states in an overly theatrical manner, practically chanting her little rhyme.

Dean splutters a bit at that. “Look lady, first of all - rhyming? What are you, Doctor Seuss? Secondly, no one says ‘whence’ anymore, and finally, we’re not-”

But Dean cannot finish. Her next sceptre wave sends a wave of pain through his middle that has him doubled over and gasping.

“Dean!” Cas is there, holding him up, arms wrapped around his form. Dean wants to yell at him to get the book. But he can’t even breathe.

“Release him or I _will_ kill you.” Dean can almost see Cas’ wings again, can sense that menacing feeling of otherness about him. He knows it’s all in his mind but that’s how badass Cas sounds right now. Dean would be touched, if he didn’t feel like he was on fire inside.

To his surprise, her hold on him loosens a little. It still feels like he’s swallowed a branding iron, but he is able to breathe. He takes in great, whooping breaths, clinging to Cas. 

The Queen laughs coldly. “Take this apple, then you’ll fall, for I’m the fairest of them all.” 

“Oh brother,” Dean looks up and sees that she is indeed, holding an apple out to Cas. It’s shiny, red and no doubt filled with EVIL. He rolls his eyes and locks his arms around Cas, using him to pull himself upright.

“I don’t get it,” Cas admits, still holding Dean, glancing at his friend for answers.

“It’s a poisoned apple. Right out of Snow White. Think she wants you to eat it.” Dean translates, still wheezing, though the pain is abating.

“Snow _what_?” Castiel wonders. Dean can only shrug helplessly.

“What if he’s not hungry?” Dean bites out. Cas rubs his back soothingly, his expression thoughtful as he supports Dean’s weight. 

Dean groans before the pain hits him because he knows that was a stupid question. His spine curves as pain rushes through him like fire and he wants to crawl into Cas, hide in him. He digs his nails into his back and tries not to scream as he falls. Cas goes down with him, holds him through it.

“Stop it! Okay, okay! I’ll eat your apple.” Cas shouts desperately. “Just let my friend go!”

“Just one bite will work too well. Even true love won’t break this spell!” The Queen full-on chuckles. 

Dean feels her glaring savagely at him. She’s ageing before his eyes, becoming wizened and hag-like by the minute, shrinking and wrinkling to reveal her true form, beauty a mask. Could she make it even more obvious that she thinks he’s Cas’ true love? He can see Cas looking from her to him in confusion. And what’s this about not being able to break the spell this time round?

The apple’s going to kill him.

“Cas – no.” He cries out weakly as Cas withdraws from him, lying Dean down carefully on the floor. Everything hurts but he tries to crawl after Castiel, grabs his arm, pulls him back so they are face-to-face.

“No,” He echoes weakly, pleading slightly. “Don’t.”

Then Cas is moving closer, so close that Dean thinks for one hopeful minute that he’s going to kiss him, eyes so bright and so blue. But his lips brush his ear, tickling gently so that they can whisper: “Get the book.”

Castiel pulls away, slowly approaches the witch-like woman. No longer proud and haughty, she is shrivelled, regal clothes hanging on her, features lit up with malice. Dean shudders and forces himself to body crawl slowly over to the stand where the book is presented in all its glory. 

The witch’s eyes are greedily fixed on Castiel as he steps closer. And who can blame her? He is beautiful. He’s a series of contradictions; handsome and lovely, ethereal yet strong, youthful but so very ancient. No wonder she’s envious. But people always underestimate him because they forget, he’s also sweet but deadly. 

Which is why, as he slowly reaches out to take the fruit from those withered fingers, he slashes at her with an angel blade instead. He slams his body into her, tackling her to the ground. The apple rolls and she screams in fury, clawing at Castiel with her fingers. 

“You’ll pay for this with your sorry life! No one hurts one such as I!”

“Hey, witch bitch! Your rhymes suck!” Dean yells as he touches the lighter to the book’s aged pages. It goes up in flames, as if made from kindling, sudden and effective. Dean drops it to the floor.

It’s very satisfying to see her melt away from under Castiel, like smoke in the wind.

“Awesome.”

And that is how team free will defeated the curse of the brothers Grimm and lived happily ever after.

\-------------------------------

But what comes after ‘after?’

“Are you okay?” Castiel is panting, but he limps over to Dean as he stomps on the book, trying not to engulf the house in flames.

Dean looks at Castiel and breaks out into a fond smile. “Am _I_ okay?” He gently swipes at a small line of blood across Cas’ cheek bone with his thumb. Cas winces but smiles tentatively back.

“She clawed me.” 

“That she did.” Dean agrees, still tracing the line of that cheek bone with his thumb. Cas’ hand lands on his shoulder, rubs gently.

“Why was I the Princess again?” Cas asks, and Dean laughs.

“I have no idea.” He lies, knowing there’s no way he’s going to share those revelations about Cas being beautiful. “I’ll get you the book.”

“And I suppose you also have no idea what she meant by calling you a ‘Prince?’ And who she was referring to as my ‘true love?’” There’s something very teasing in Cas’ voice and expression now. Since when did he learn to do that?

Dean thinks he may be flirting with him. And what’s he doing in return? Standing here, in a millionaire’s house, still cupping Cas’ cheek gently, invading each other’s personal space. He lets his hand fall and steps away.

“We better let Sam know-”

Then Castiel is pulling him back by the wrist until they are closer than they’ve ever been. Knees knocking, one hand now cradling the back of Dean’s head, hip to hip. And kissing. Yep. That’s kissing alright. Cas’ movements are firm, certain and so ridiculously hot. His mouth is damp and perfect. Dean’s pressing back before he knows it, shivering into Cas’ body. He moans a little when Cas sucks lightly on his lower lip before moving away, looking flushed but pleased.

“You cannot kiss me and walk away, Dean Winchester.” Somehow Dean just knows he’s referring to their kiss before.

“You knew?” Dean answers weakly.

“I knew.” Cas responds, rolling his eyes like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Fair enough.” Dean replies, and this time he’s the one who pulls Cas in. And the kiss lasts a lot longer this time.

And it’s the first of many.


End file.
